Helga rubbed the crinkled slip of paper between her fingers as she hugged the wall, walking slowly in the dark. She felt the distant rumble of thunder from the storm outside, yet no strikes were close enough to light up the windows. At last, the lights flicked back on.
There were two bodies.
Murmurs rustled through the crowd.
"Hey–now hold on, wait a minute," said the detective as he came forward, gesturing for everyone to calm down. "Isn't there only supposed to be one victim?"
"Yeah, who's playin'?" Harold hollered.
The detective, a teen from another school she didn't recognize, approached the nearest body, its limbs draped haphazardly across the gymnasium floor.
It was the purple-haired twin. The detective cocked his hip, crossing his arms.
"Hey, are you dead? If you are, just nod your head. You're not allowed to talk."
A moment passed. Instead, the twin shrugged and shook his head.
The detective threw their hands up. "Then get up! The fuck, man."
"Language!" called a counselor.
The twin shrugged again. "Can't I just lie here?"
Some of the other players laughed before everyone circled around the other body. The real one.
"Then that means that someone here done gone an' killed Arnold," Stinky proclaimed.
Gerald shook his head and hummed, once twice thrice. "They killed you dead, buddy."
Helga booked it across the room, sidestepping the other players as they looked on or idled.
Sure enough, there he lay, in his gray-blue flanneled, slack-jeaned glory.
Weird pose, though.
She choked back a snort and crumpled up her 'bystander' role slip.
Peapod Kid gestured heavily. "Look how they massacred my boy."
"Look–look how they arranged him," Sid broke out, his snickers growing to guffaws.
Harold joined in, howling obnoxiously.
"I know, he's all," he laid the back of his wrist with dramatic femininity over his brow, "damsel in distress!"
Arnold, the ever-faithful corpse, kept the dead gaze of his blushing scowl locked to the ceiling.
The Idiot Trio's effect was contagious, erupting the rest of the room with laughter and jeers. She had to hold her sides to keep them from splitting.
"Well, at least it's a good thing he's already dead! Otherwise, he'd be so embarrassed!"
"Right? Then he'da just straight up die for real. '911? I just done witnessed a murder.'"
"Alright, alright," the detective called out to corral the crowd. "Interrogations. Circle up."
As people shuffled about the gymnasium, finding places to sit on the floor, Helga glanced over at Phoebe and saw her already cuddling up to Gerald. Not wanting to third wheel in the company of their PDA, she found herself ambling towards the twins once again. They sat a ways, wallflowering on the sidelines as much as they could, given the setup, a sentiment that matched her speed. They greeted with a brief, wordless nod, and Helga took her spot, sitting cross legged and looking out onto Arnold's inert form across the floor, an odd mix of irritable stoicism and flamboyance. The purple-haired twin gave a low chuckle.
"I can't believe he let you do that, dude."
"Hey," his twin replied with feigned humility, "we were just two bodies fumbling in the dark, man."
Helga did a double-take, a slow, incredulous grin overtaking her face as she scoffed out a short laugh.
"You?" she whispered. "You did that?"
He put out his hands, grinning and guilty as charged. "You like it? It was that or the 'sexy railroad spiderman' pose, but I couldn't see well enough."
"What even…" she shook her head, stopping herself from dignifying that with a response.
The detective began interrogating the crowd once everyone had seated, and a bulk of the players, easily dismissed as 'bystanders', stood off to the side. Helga tuned out most of the following spat the detective had with Sid, who went up and insisted he be let on as 'investigative assistant' due to his 'work' revealing who killed Stinky in one of the earlier games he'd won.
Murder in the Dark, or at least this version of it, hinged on the honesty of the murderer, who was determined by secret lottery, once finally found and questioned, which guaranteed eventual success. But getting that win in under five minutes meant winning some kinda dinky camp prize, and this guy was pushing for it.
As the detective brushed Sid off and continued his questioning of the crowd, he singled out a brunette she recognized with no enthusiasm, catching the angular features of his face as he put his hands up and shook his head, and was dismissed. He eyed Arnold's 'corpse' warily before shifting his attention to Helga as he walked past, looking at her a little too long until his gaze slipped away sheepishly at her scowl.
The mop-head twin pointed covertly after said brunette joined the other 'bystanders' and looked back at Helga as he spoke, continuing their sidebar with a low whisper.
"Wyatt, right?"
Helga furrowed her brow, staring hard.
"How do you even know his name?" she whispered–nearly hissed–back. "You don't even know my name."
The twins drew back on a moment of feigned, thoughtful realization.
"Uh…oh, yeah," purple-hair replied with a jocular air, frowning ironically.
Helga, who'd normally eyeroll, pressed on with her imploring stare. She kept her breath controlled as her insides hardened.
She had a weird feeling about them knowing about Wyatt that she didn't like.
"Well," mop-head defended, palms out, "you can hardly blame us."
"We didn't ask Wyatt."
"Yeah, Wyatt told us."
"Asked about you–"
"But mostly," mop-head continued, ignoring her resultant deadpan, "asked about our current corpse over there."
Helga's eyes widened.
"And if he'd, you know…" mop-head let the moment hang with a smirk–one that she found frustratingly obnoxious, "...approached us."
Purple-hair lowered his chin, leveling her with an amused smirk, but she detected a faint note of discomfort, as he picked up where his twin left off. "...Or told us to back off..."
Helga smiled a nasty smile, looking away with bitter humor as she chewed her bottom lip.
Her eyes cast daggers at Arnold's 'corpse' as she let out a controlled exhale, sensing all their sharp, suspended points angled toward him in her mind's eye, ready to strike. She shook her head.
Of course.
But the twin wasn't done, her periphery catching his pause as he gestured vaguely.
"Or...If he'd warned us at all, about, uh…"
"...About you," mop-head finished, sparing her a wide-eyed glance before looking away again, his whisper lower. The twins nodded in unison, and when their gazes leveled up at her again, they did so with a flexible air that could either welcome mocking dismissal, or something more serious, if she so chose.
Helga's jaw clenched, fingers tightening into hidden fists. Locking eyes back on him, her voice came back hard and tight when she finally replied.
"Did he, now?"
The detective came over; it was their turn next. Before he could even open his mouth, Sid burst into their space, much to his chagrin and exasperation, and pointed an accusatory finger directly at the mop-headed twin.
"You! How about it, huh? Did you murder Arnold?"
"Who haven't I killed?" he mocked back in a Batman voice. The detective scoffed impatiently, ready to move on, as his twin muttered 'Batman doesn't even kill people,' flippantly under his breath.
Sid wasn't convinced, pointing again with renewed energy. "Hah! That's just what a murderer would say!"
"Sure, any murderer knows that," he retorted, "so why would they say it?"
"...Huh," Sid tapped his chin in genuine thought, missing the other twin's smirking side-eye. "Good point…"
The detective threw up his hands, muttering, 'man, I don't even fucking care anymore,' as he trudged off.
"...Well, then!" Sid pointed again, re-assuming his dramatic 'character.' "Who do you think did it?"
The twins shared a knowing grin before they looked back at Sid, and pointed at Helga.
She'd hardly noticed, her eyes never leaving her target.
"Helga!" Sid gasped, over the top, and redirected his accusatory finger toward her. "Tell me! Did you murder Arnold?"
Her eyes narrowed, baby blues turning to steel.
"Yes."
… … …
Helga was no stranger to betrayal, from outside or within herself. She spent free period the next day weighing down on these truths. Dragging on her bathing suit, flattering yet feeling like a farce, she ran her fingers over the healing scabs from her leech bites last week, and presumed she should expect no less.
It was cooler that day, and while most of her peers elected to hang around campfires and eat s'mores, she felt herself drawn to the chill of the pond, far from the reeds, and all others.
It was the first time since she arrived at summer camp that she took time for just herself.
There weren't very many moments where she could wash everything away, but when she waded out and let herself sink, it invited a sense of oblivion that almost felt like peace. She stayed down for a while, able to hold her breath longer than most. She didn't take swimming lessons, but her ability came as no surprise.
She'd been holding her breath all her life.
She felt air bubbles trail past her cheek as she propelled herself forward through the waters, turning weightlessly once she was close enough to shore for her feet to touch the soft sand and fallen leaves of the pond floor. Pivoting her feet to launch herself, she jumped, breaking out of the surface like a violent rebirth, gasping ragged as she re-entered the world with squeezed-shut eyes.
An unexpected shout and violent splashing startled her terribly, and she yelped on reflex before she could even open her eyes to see who the hell it was.
"AH! CRIMINY!"
She must have startled someone else who'd arrived just before she'd erupted from the waters depths. So much for being alone. Helga wiped pond water from her eyes and strings of hair off her face as she panted frantically to catch her breath. Clearing herself, she slowly opened her wet lashes at last, letting the light of day peer through before her vision focused.
She flew back.
"-OH F-FUCKING–SHIT!"
They never stuck together on such occasions. Rather, the magnetism of some unknown, seemingly cosmic force hell bent on colliding the two in random encounters caused the pair to jump back from each other with ferocious power, like two super magnets repelled by the very same attracting force, and always crackling an electrifying charge in its wake.
They both short-circuited on the spot like two live wires exposed as they backpedaled, splashing apart until they finally braced and stilled, catching their gasping breaths.
When their wide eyes met their expressions were open and raw, too shocked and shaken to present themselves otherwise. Her thoughts were roaring and static and left no wits about her.
She raked her scorching gaze all over him, feeling roasted flush and naked when his eyes raked her back in turn.
She wavered on the spot, a sort of dizzy helplessness overcoming her when their eyes met again, molten and with nowhere to hide. The longer neither moved or spoke, the higher her mounting panic forced her panting breath to the point of hyperventilation.
Her hand flung to her pounding heart, she stole a few heaving breaths, and then ran, fleeing from a moment neither were ready for.
She exacted petty revenge during the next day's volleyball game when he'd taken the opposing side, spiking him hard, again and again regardless of gameplay, mercilessly, inconsolably until he was called out at last. Nothing Phoebe or the other players said mattered, nor the counselors when they escorted her off the court with a stern warning.
Nothing but cursing him, her own weakness, and every teenage hormone in her body.
… … …
Helga Pataki looked past the lighthouse rocks, the colors of the sky and ocean blending almost imperceptibly on the distant horizon, until she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. She gazed into the natural void, a connection between worlds, like it held the key to some needed insight she was missing, but it brought her nothing.
And, sure enough, there he was again, looking up at the lighthouse.
And, her again, her feelings roiling as she watched from below, and doing zilch. She sighed. How was all this uselessness of hers so exhausting?
He eventually turned back to cross the grassy knoll until his golden locks, the last of him she could see, were out of sight.
Helga crouched low on a rock shelf, her face in her hands, fingers pressed hard to the bridge of her nose. She felt the tips dig to the corner of her eyes, her brow furrowed as she squeezed them shut. She let the movements of her own breath rock her gently, back and forth, thinking over her plans, her mind running, smoothing out the wrinkles, checking off boxes, and…
At last, she released a defeated scoff.
What plans?
She pressed her fingers so hard her nails dug, and didn't ease off.
How was she supposed to do this?
No admission of herself ever came freely. Behind every feeling of vengeance, fear, or hurt, there was hope. And truths of that kind, the kind that were so raw, tender and easy to wound, wound to the point where she feared a type of death, were never just offered up by her.
Unless she was the one who was cornered.
And he'd been so careless.
No, there was no going back. No going back to pretend, and while that felt like a cornering of its own… he'd stepped out of the ring, and she was the one who could choose where she'd go.
Even with truth on her side, she couldn't trust herself to him. Couldn't place how she'd handle the outcome on him.
Her hands dropped, her gaze slipping dolefully to the horizon.
Regardless of where, or when, or how he'd be positioned before their confrontation, she'd have to do something even harder.
She'd have to come to her own terms for herself.
Regardless of what he would, or wouldn't say, or do.
They were all going back to Hillwood after this; they'd both be living in the same city. Even go to the same highschool.
…Unless he elected otherwise. A thought she'd never considered before, until now. But, he could.
Regardless, summer camp ended in five days, and in her gut, it didn't matter where they ended up after.
These felt like the last five days, ever.
When she came up the hill again to return to her cabin, she spotted him facing away, flipping through his phone on one of the park benches. With a whole swarm of girls, cooing and giggling around him.
How do you like that?
The wind picked up, and Helga felt something hollow dry up and shrivel in her chest.
She began walking over, moving stiff and slow, as if she were made of wood.
A small, wry smile twisted her lips as she approached.
True.
She never mattered before he'd met her.
Not enough to be more than a mistake, or an obligation, or an afterthought.
Not enough to be seen. To be thought of. Or treated in normal, kind, subtle ways.
But, he had.
From small waves when he walked away, sharing an open awe for her colors, or shielding her from the rain, she went from not mattering, to mattering. To having value.
To being real.
A real girl.
Not unseen.
And not a shadow of worth.
And yet, as she often thought…
Despite being her maker, she'd always remain real, and matter.
No matter what.
Regardless of what he'd say, or do, or if the rift between them never mended. Or if he'd stay in her life, but never love her.
Or even if he did.
She was real, and she mattered.
No matter how unreal she felt as she approached.
Her truth stuck thick in her throat, she stopped just short of the throng of girls, all crowding around his phone as he flipped through his photos, and looked.
A tightness corded and clenched through her.
Behind every gushing coo, every girlish freakout, swoon, and hushed 'aw's', was a gallery of every transient love he had in the volunteer life he lived outside of school and their friend group. One that she'd only seen glimpses of.
They were hard for her to take.
Rescued, rehabilitated dogs, their before and afters. Disabled cats he fostered with his grandmother until they found homes. Friends he'd made at the soup kitchen—and when he'd called them friends, she knew he wasn't just saying that. He meant it.
The hungry, ragged homeless he fed—snapping shots when they'd smile, feeling seen. Real.
Humans and animals that were wounded and slow to trust. Who needed time, someone there every day who loved them, even if they didn't belong anywhere. Some beyond rescue.
Abandoned pets he'd bonded with and held when no one else would as they were put down. Some terminally ill, some beyond hope, and some he just couldn't do more for.
The photos didn't show everything, but she knew. Some, he'd told her.
And once, she had gone and saw for herself.
And when she had, she'd shown too much.
He stopped, thumb pausing over the last photo he'd swiped.
Her breath hitched.
The girls, who just happened to be running late for an elective, made passing, vapid comments as they got ready to take off. Helga stared at the last photo, their words dull in her ears. Well, thanks for showing us, Arnold. Yeah, I couldn't resist when I saw that one dog when we were walking by? Haha, sorry, I guess that's, like, kinda weird, eyeballing some stranger's phone like that? Heh. But like, seriously? Not sorry, I'm awful. Oh my god, me too though. No seriously, I like, cannot help it when I see people walking their dogs. I just have to pet them… Ohmygod, wasn't it sooo cute though? My god, YES. And I still can't get over how it used to look so ratty!
He hardly did more than nod and send them off with a small wave.
A silent moment stretched where neither moved, save for the distant sounds of campers and the dull roar of waves crashing all around the peninsula.
At last, Arnold looked up from the photo and turned to look over his shoulder, his eyes slowly lifting up to meet hers.
His expression was unreadable.
But he didn't stare, or challenge, or seem to expect anything from her.
She could only hold so much at once, and she was already so full from the bottom up with emotion that the perception of her fearful, harder…angrier feelings, were all fuzzy and muffled.
She knew that wouldn't last.
Likely for either of them, if he felt the same way.
Yet, nevertheless. She didn't know how to feel, or what to focus on.
So, she imagined she met his eyes much the same way; not staring, challenging, or expecting anything of him back in return.
They held that look for a spell, before she cast her gaze back down to the photo. The same one she'd taken weeks ago with his phone, from the one time she went with him. The one time he didn't want to go alone when asked.
It was just him crossing the divide with a dog, one he'd taken time trying to help socialize. A golden-furred mutt who refused his kindness longer than any other. One he never gave up on, no matter how much it growled, bared its teeth or barked at him. And after so much time, kindness and painstaking patience, when she accompanied him that day, he was able to open her gate and scratch her ear gently, without trepidation.
She looked on as she tentatively let him, despite the tremble of her lip, the smallest show of teeth, still rough around the edges.
He waited, and didn't push.
Finally, she gently turned her muzzle, and let him cradle the weight of her head in his palm, and closed her eyes.
Arnold held her like that, gently stroking his thumb over her fur. His voice was quiet, no more than a murmur, but she heard him.
'Yeah, you've been a good girl all along, haven't you?'
Helga didn't know why she did it, why it happened. She had no means to justify her broken composure, or letting him see.
But when she'd slapped her hand to her mouth to choke the sound of the surprised sob that cracked from her throat, their eyes met, and he looked as caught as she was.
The moment hung between them, his eyes wide as hers splashed tears every time she blinked.
She'd turned and ran out, and didn't talk to him for the better part of a week afterwards.
And he'd mercifully let her live it down when he caught her boomerang back, in that old pattern of theirs.
Save one teasing comment, spoken with a small smile as he averted her gaze.
That she could keep it a secret all she liked, but he'd already seen through her tough, blustery exterior, and into her soft, mushy, good-hearted center.
And smirked when she'd smacked his shoulder after and made him swear he'd never tell.
Helga stared down at the photo in the present, and Arnold, following her line of sight, looked back down to it, too.
The moment stretched, and to her surprise, in its lengthening silence an opening broke through her closed throat, and her heart was already speaking before her head had given any instruction otherwise.
"Miss her?" she asked, quietly.
Arnold tensed for a spell. Then, at last, his shoulders sagged, leaning forward on his knees as he looked on.
His voice, husky and deep, broke out in a soft gust– his first word to her since that time in the library stacks, right before graduation.
"Yeah."
Time slowed.
Waiting a while, neither knowing what for, he finally stood, pocketed his phone, and walked off.
Helga lingered at the bench, watching his back as he left her behind. Walking around it, she sat where he had, feeling its warmth.
Inspired, she hatched a plan.
… … …
Author's Notes: Wrinkles
